


Is it "Grease" or "Persuasion"?

by nrrdgrrlrants (nrrdgrrl)



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Baby Shower, F/M, Flashback, GapYearLock, Greg Lestrade is an awesome dad, Post-His Last Vow, canon adjacent
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-08-09
Updated: 2015-05-10
Packaged: 2018-02-12 09:53:54
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 3,880
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2105283
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nrrdgrrl/pseuds/nrrdgrrlrants
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dr. Molly Hooper knows how to throw a fun baby shower.  Which is good, because Mary finds herself without many friends after her best man shoots her maid-of-honor's boss.  And now that the shower is over, and Mary gets a chance to sit and put her feet up, she wants to know why there's so much awkward between the pathologist and that git her husband runs around with.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

“My feet look like boats Molly”

“Ugh, water weight. Most of it goes away 24 hours or so after birth.”

“Thank god. Right now its flip-flops or ballet flats. And the NHS frowns on its employees wearing flip-flops in their medical establishments. So its ballet flats for me. All. The. Time.”

“You know, they make some very fashionable diabetic shoes…”

*Snort*

“I see quite a few in the prep room, I could grab you an unclaimed pair…”

“Only a true friend would steal diabetic shoes from a morgue to help the whale-like pregnant people in their life.”

“I would only do it for you.”

“...”

“...”

“Wanted to thank you again for the baby shower. And the mimosa bar was a brilliant idea.”

“Well, what’s the point of being allowed 1 drink a week if you can’t enjoy it?”

“Exactly. But no, really, thank you. Ever since the Janine thing…” 

“I get it.”

“I haven’t really talked to her much, and now she’s off in the country yelling at bees or something. I didn’t really realize how many of our friends would take her side.”

“Friend break-ups are the worst.”

“And making the shower co-ed was a great idea. I still can’t believe Greg won the nappy-changing challenge.”

“He does have have like a million kids.”

“Good point.”

“...”

“I was hoping that Mr. Dark-and-Broody would be here.”

“Well that’s one of us.”

“Still not talking to him?”

“No reason to.”

“Has he reached out to you at all since…”

“Since I slapped him silly in front of everyone he cares about? I think so?”

“What do you mean ‘I think so?’”

“He’s made some gestures, but they come off like…”

“Like he’s an alien scientist trying to navigate human emotions and cultural norms?”

“Yeah pretty much. He’s gotten me coffee without me having to ask first. He says excuse me before he bumps into me in the lab. I think he tries to look contrite when we make eye contact, but its mostly just him squinting and nodding.”

*Snort* “Oh god, ever since month 8 I snort when I laugh.”

“Sinuses tend to me more clogged during the last trimester. Talk to the midwife about some OTC decongestants; you’re far enough along they shouldn’t affect the baby at all.”

“I will, thank you. But I was still hoping he would be here. If only to make fun of John’s swearing.”

“He really should have asked Greg for help with assembling the baby furniture. Seriously, he has a ton of kids, he’s done all of this before.”

“But when else does John get to use all the swearing skills he picked up in the Army?”

“That’s thoughtful of you.”

“It is thoughtful of me.” 

“...”

“You did invite Sherlock?”

“Of course. By email, post and text. I’m also assuming John reminded him.”

“Do you think he’s avoiding me?”

“No, I’m pretty sure its me.”

“Those slaps weren’t that hard. And you were right.”

“Its not the slaps.”

“...”

“...”

“What are you hiding Dr. Hooper?”

“No.”

“No what? You are hiding something.”

“You do not get to use your super-secret spy skills on me.”

“Yes I do. I get to use my super-secret spy skills on everyone. Including Sherlock, so if I don’t get this out of you, I will get it out of him.”

*Sigh*

“See, you can’t resist the pregnant lady. Spill it.”

“Have you ever heard Greg’s story on the first time Sherlock and I met?”

“Yeah, him brooding, you stammering, about a year or so before he met John?”

“That’s the one.”

“What about it?”

“What if I told you that wasn’t the first time we met…”

“SHUT THE FUCK UP.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~  
Summer, 1996

Ms. Molly Hooper sat at a small table outside of a cafe that she had found roaming the streets of Bath. She was generally not one to roam, but her aunt said her face was too mopey to stay inside the house for one more day. 

The cafe was quiet; it was the middle of the afternoon, after the lunch crowd but before teatime. Molly had a large ceramic cup, only half-full of her latte, her Discman, and her CD binder sitting in front of her. She had a copy of “The Autumn of the Patriarch” in her hands, but was taking a break to people watch when he came outside.

He walked into the outdoor eating area carrying the largest cardboard cup of coffee the cafe sold. He was tall, skinny, pale, and his curly black hair was long-ish, but shaved underneath. He was wearing navy workman’s coveralls, but with the top pulled down and the sleeves tied around his waist. But what Molly really noticed was his tshirt.

He was wearing a Fugazi tshirt. 

Not an official one of course. But “Fugazi” was right there in clear but faded letters. Molly was no punk rock purist, but she was definitely a fan of all music. She had only recently started getting more familiar with California punk when she came across a copy of “Punk in Drublic” at a resale shop. 

She watched as he put his coffee on a table and pulled out a Zippo lighter and an enamel-painted cigarette case. He pulled out one cigarette and lit it, keeping the breeze away from the end with his hand. But he didn’t light it like someone who normally wore work coveralls. His hands were elegant, with long fingers that never fumbled. And as the cigarette dangled from his lips, and he started to put things back in his pockets, Molly made a choice.

“I like your shirt,” she said, sliding her headphones back off her ears. The young man looked down at his shirt, coffee in one hand, cigarette in the other.

“Yeah,” he said. He turned around and left the outdoor cafe, all without even looking at Molly.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“That’s it? You saw him in a cafe in Bath one time?”

“That wasn’t the only time I saw him that summer.”


	2. Chapter 2

“So you saw him in Bath.”

“Yes.”

“And you were in Bath doing what? Treating your consumption? Seeing a doctor about your hysteria?” 

“You’re going to waggle your eyebrows right off your face.”

“Why else be in Bath?”

“I was spending the summer out there with my aunt and uncle. My mom had just re-entered the dating pool, I was starting uni at Bath in the fall, so I went to stay with them for the summer.”

“Of course you went to uni at Bath.”

“You’re one to talk Ms. “I went to assassin school at the CIA”.”

“Damn straight I did. So was that the only time you saw him?”

“No…”

 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Molly was on her way to the library, bright and early and ready to waste the day away surrounded by the smell of slowly aging books. She took a different route each time, trying to see as much of Bath as she could before she got tied down to the campus. She was about to pass by a lovely, older estate when she saw someone standing by the door.

“DeeDee? Is that you?” she asked.

“Little Molly Hooper? Oh my god!” said the curly haired young woman, running over and giving Molly a short, sharp hug. “Look at you! Its nice seeing you outside of the council flats. I heard about your da, I’m so sorry.”

“Thanks,” said Molly, trying to balance her own grief with her genuine thanks for DeeDee’s thoughtfulness. “So what are you doing out here in Bath? Are you at uni?”

“Oh god no, I work here. Sober living facility. I stayed here awhile back, and after a bit they offered me a job. Something about recovering addicts minding other recovering addicts. I lucked out really. I get a place to live, some money, the kids aren’t so bad, and I don’t have to go back to London,” said DeeDee. Molly noted that she honestly looked happy. DeeDee was a few years older, and used to look out for Molly. But DeeDee’s mother’s boyfriends started getting meaner, and DeeDee was seen less and less.

A group of four young men and women walked out the door, all wearing navy coveralls and heading in the same direction down the street.

“The No. 175 leaves in five! Don’t dawdle. No Cornettos!” said DeeDee. “They’re alright. Still waiting on 1 more.”

Molly nodded and looked around the area.

“Used to be a boarding house years ago. They turned it into sober living about 10 years ago. Something new they’re trying. Must be doing something right. Hey, what are you doing tonight?” said DeeDee.

“Nothing much,” said Molly.

“You should come on by! We’re having a gathering tonight,” said DeeDee, genuinely excited that Molly might attend.

“Um, sure. I’ll have to check with my aunt and uncle…” said Molly

“We call them gatherings, because party implies substances. Which will not be there, in case your relatives are concerned,” said DeeDee.

“They’re not, but they sometimes like to take me along to their ‘social calls’, so they can show me off to their professor friends,” said Molly, sounding more exasperated than she really was. She knew they meant well.

“No worries, stop by after 9, let me get you my number here,” said DeeDee as she poked her head inside. “Hey, before you run off, let me see your pen,” she said to the tall, skinny young man who was just walking out the door.

Molly took in the young man she had seen the week before. The coveralls were done up this time, and the unlit cigarette was dangling from his lips precariously. He held out a cheap motel pen out to DeeDee while she fished in the pockets of her jumper for some paper. She took the pen and started writing out her contact information.

“So Fugazi today, or maybe you’re moving on to Minor Threat?” asked Molly to the young man.

“Um?” he asked Molly.

“Your shirt. Fugazi? Misfits? Maybe Pixies?” Molly asked.

“I think the Smiths, I’m not really sure,” he responded, honestly looking not quite sure of his answer.

“Here you go Sherl. Thanks for the pen, but if you don’t hoof it to the bus stop, you’ll be running all the way out to ASBO,” said DeeDee, giving him a gentle nudge towards the direction of the youths who left previously, and turning back to Molly. “Come over tonight. Maybe you’ll be the one to vanquish that one at the games.”

“Games? Like board games?” asked Molly.

“Yeah, that one is undefeated so far. Its quite annoying, you might be the only person I know who might stand a chance against him,” said DeeDee. Molly glanced at the young man walking away. She tried not to smile when she noticed him trying to look back at her without seeming obvious.

“I could give it a try.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“So I have to ask…”

“Three times a week. I’m proud of that.”

“Oh god, not that. When did you go to nursing school?”

“During my “covert ops” training at Langley.”

“At the same time? God that sounds awful.”

“Meh.”

“Which was worse, assassin school or nursing school?”

“Nursing school. Those bitches are crazy.”


	3. Chapter 3

Molly showed up at the old brick mansion later that evening with a 10-pound note in her jeans pocket, but without her backpack (she only felt a little naked without it). Her aunt handed her the money as she and her uncle were walking out the door.

“Girls your age need a little pocket money. And remember, let the boys buy the drinks, you save that for the cab home,” her aunt warned. Molly’s aunt and uncle were convinced that if she just went to the pub, she’d be able to just chat up the other young people hanging out there. They really did mean well, and they were thrilled she was going out tonight.

“There will be other pinochle tournies, although we will miss seeing you crush all of the old biddies,” said her uncle. She’s pretty sure he wants to use Molly to hustle rubes at poker. He might even get away with it, but he keeps referring to her as “The Ringer” down at the rec center. Loudly. To anyone who would listen.

Molly knocked on the old, repainted doors and waited to be let in. She could hear music and some talking, but was fine waiting outside; it gave her more time to adjust to the idea of socializing. Before she could completely psych herself out, the door opened.

“Molls! You came, come on in! No need for formalities,” said DeeDee. She let Molly in and started pointing around the house. “We’ve got tables set up in here and the dining room, there are a couple games in progress but if you see an empty seat help yourself.” The building details were old, but the furniture was well-used and from the last 20 years or so. The sofas were all pushed to the walls to make room for the card tables and folding chairs, most of the seating filled with other people Molly’s age.

“Follow the hallway straight back, you’ll hit the kitchen. Soda, water, crisps, biscuits, help yourself to whatever,” said DeeDee as she walked to a group that looked like it was struggling with the rules to an overly elaborate boardgame.

Molly walked slowly back to the kitchen; it gave her a chance to look at the framed pictures on the wall. There were posed group shots taken every year of the residents standing in front of the manor. DeeDee was in a few of them, looking much happier than Molly remembered her in the council flats. When she finally got back to the kitchen, she saw a familiar face stealing all of the chocolate biscuits.

“Save one for me?” asked Molly.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~  
“I get it now, you lived “Grease.”

“Umm...what?”

“Obviously you and cheekbones made goo-goo eyes at each other during one magical summer, and then you had to go back to school and pretend you didn’t know each other when you passed in the hallway.”

“He didn’t go to Bath.”

“Irrelevant. Also it sounds like there was a complete lack of adult supervision, how many adults did you see in Grease?”

“DeeDee was an adult.”

“I’m pretty sure she would have let you get away with murder. Or extreme public snogging. I have a feeling authority figures generally trust you.”

“I think you want me to be Sandy, so that you’ll be Rizzo.”

“Who cares about Rizzo, I want to be Stockard Channing.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The young man looked at Molly and handed her one of the chocolate biscuits he was trying to pilfer.

“Your secret is safe now. And Bikini Kill, never thought you were one for the riot grrrl bands,” said Molly. She was pointing at his shirt but he still looked confused.

“Oh,” he said, looking down. “Its not really mine, belongs to my roommate.”

“OK,” said Molly. They both stood in the kitchen awkwardly, not talking and trying not to look at each other. Molly focused on the lemonade she poured for herself, and the young man was trying to look occupied with his biscuits.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“Awww...you two were awkward together even then.”

“Shut up and let me finish the story.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“I’m going to jump in on a game, wanna come?” asked Molly thinking maybe he just needed someone to push him a little.

“They prefer that I didn’t,” he answered. Molly shrugged and walked back to the sitting area. The usual games were out: Clue, Monopoly, Scrabble. But DeeDee waved her over to a table in the corner.

“Garrett just picked up this crazy game from Germany, you should try this out,” she said, made some introductions and then left Molly to her devices. Die Siedler von Catan was fun, even if it was in German, and Molly picked it up quickly. Quickly enough that she was able to win by enough points that it wasn’t even a contest. But everyone was nice, and didn’t take it personally.

She played in a few more games, winning the majority of them (except Candyland, no way to juke the system in that one). Eventually Garrett, he of the German boardgames, decided they needed to play poker.

“Its a thinking-man’s game. Or woman. Come on Molly, don’t chicken out now,” Garrett said. 

“Careful G, she might look innocent, but she’ll clean you out,” warned Deedee. She laughed while Molly rolled her eyes, but it didn’t stop her from taking a seat at the table.

“Five pence ante,” said Garrett, who only managed to drop 2 cards while shuffling the deck. Molly looked around while everyone pulled out small piles of coins from their pockets. Her hand felt the 10 pound note in her pocket and she thought about asking Deedee to break it for her. A hand reached in front of her and left a sizable amount of change in front of her. She looked up and saw the skinny young man in the borrowed clothes walking away. He took a seat nearby, rested his chin on his tented fingers and seemed to be watching the table.

It only took half an hour for Molly to clean house. She offered to refund the money back to the other gamblers, but they refused. She also looked for her patron, but his seat was empty. Molly took her winnings and started to look for Deedee, as the gathering seemed to be transforming from games night to something more social. But she was stopped by a larger hand grabbing her hand.

“Come along,” said Molly’s poker benefactor, leading her by the hand to the front door.


	4. Chapter 4

“Here it comes, here comes the dirty stuff.”

“Your hormones are out of control.”

“I apologize for nothing”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~  
The young man held on to Molly’s hand until they walked through the doors of the large house. Molly struggled to keep up with his long strides, but eventually stopped before the next intersection.

“You could at least give me your name,” she said.

“Sherlock,” he answered, not really looking her in the eyes.

“Molly.”

“Well now that that’s settled, maybe we can continue and get this over before curfew,” he said and proceeded to cross the road. Molly followed a few steps behind and tried to catch up, but had a hard time keeping up with his pace. She eventually accepted her fate, and continued to remain the short distance behind. She probably should have asked where they were going, but by they time they got three blocks away, she figured in for a penny, in for a pound.

By the time they got about a quarter mile away, Sherlock ducked into a small cafe and sat at the counter. He didn’t look back, but Molly assumed he wanted her to join him, and took the padded stool next to his.

“I’ve seen you before,” he said, and gestured to the empty coffee cup in front of him to the girl behind the counter.

“At the house?” Molly asked, not really sure what he was talking about.

“No, no,” he said, and dumped 4 packets of sugar into the small mug.

“The coffee shop?”

“Don’t be daft, it’s beneath you,” he said. He didn’t sneer, but his blank expression implied a sneer was nearby.

“Well you’re going to have to give me something. Its not like you’re from the estates,” she snapped back, and let go of her coffee cup before she was too tempted to dump it on his lap.

“And how would you know that?” he turned and looked at her directly in the eyes.

“The cigarette case. Too posh. The sunburn. ASBO is probably the only exposure to the great outdoors you’ve had in awhile. And the blisters on your hands. Blokes your age working physical jobs have callouses by now; they’ve been working for awhile at this age. You just started. Not really used to it?” she asked. He turned from her and looked at the television in the corner of the cafe.

“No. But necessary,” he said, and took a sip of his coffee. “Chess.”

“What?” she asked, surprised.

“Chess tournament. Top 4 finalist,” he said this and peered at Molly from the corner of his eye. She knew he was carefully watching her reaction.

“Oh that? Yeah, I guess,” she said, and decided that her coffee cup need to be watched closely.

“You threw the match.”

“Excuse me what?” and looked up from her coffee cup and right into his eyes. She guessed that she was finally more interesting than the telly.

“You threw the match. In the three previous games you had against Zafer over the past two years, you defeated him soundly each time. You had the ability, and from your fifth move on you clearly made choices that gave him a clear advantage. You didn’t just let him win, you gave him the map and instructions on how to do it. This leads me to ask why? Most obvious answer: you owed money to a bookie. Council flat, recently deceased parent, but private school. Highly unlikely you were able to receive a bank loan to attend, leaving your recently widowed mother to turn to a crime syndicate for tuition. You threw the match, even though you were heavily favored to win. Bookies don’t have to pay out, and you get to keep your kneecaps,” he managed not to smirk too much when he said all of this. 

“No,” said Molly. “I did throw the match. But it wasn’t bookies.”

“Its always something. What did I miss?” he asked. It seemed like he honestly wanted to know.

“All the facts were right. But not the motivation.”

“Tell me.”

“I knew Zafer for 2 years. He and I were the only scholarship students at these tournies. But I had a full ride to Bath after graduation,” she explained.

“Relatives?” Sherlock asked.

“My aunt and uncle are professors. They get free tuition to bestow upon their children, but no children. The school is letting them transfer it to me. Anyways, Zafer’s marks were never really that good. He was pretty good at chess, but bored. Most of the teachers wrote him off as a ‘paki,’” Molly rolled her eyes at the slur.

“That’s not even correct; clearly he’s Turkish,” he said, rolling his eyes back at her.

“Obviously. Anyways, the top 3 finalists got a scholarship. And he needed it more. I dunno, chess was something I always did with my dad, he’d been dead for a few months, and mum had to work. Zafer’s entire family was there. Mum, dad, sisters, second-cousins twice removed. They were so proud,” Molly said, draining the dregs of her coffee.

“Bored, let’s go,” said Sherlock, as he stood up and headed to the door. Molly realized he hadn’t payed, grabbed a handful of her poker earnings and tried to keep up with him. “We’re in Bath, let’s see the beach”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“SKINNY DIPPING! I knew it!”

“You’re cut off.”

“There had to be something…”

“Unfortunately for your libido by the time we got to the shore, we had to leave. Curfew.”

“But you saw him again, right?”

“No, I stopped the next morning, but he had left already.”

“Left? But he still had ASBO...fucking Mycroft.”

“Indeed.”

**Author's Note:**

> Hello and welcome to my first fanfic! I'm playing around with form and format; if its really confusing let me know.
> 
> The title will make sense later. Just trust me on this one.
> 
> And if anyone is interested I can pull together a playlist of some of the bands mentioned. There will be more mentioned in later chapters.


End file.
